


The Smartest in the Room

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Guilt, M/M, Pining, Rank Disparity, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 10:21:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14747006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton's mouth gets him in trouble, but then what else is new.





	The Smartest in the Room

When Washington is at last allowed into the embassy brig, he finds Alexander pacing back and forth in the generously proportioned cell. Restless energy keeps the boy in motion, despite the fact that he has almost certainly been moving at the same relentless clip for the past several hours. There is indignation in the straight line of Hamilton's posture, and anger in the clench of his jaw.

He apparently hasn't noticed he's no longer alone, judging by the fact that he doesn't slow or falter.

Washington stands at the open doorframe, keeping a safe distance between himself and the cell's shimmering transparent forcefield. He clasps his hands behind his back, his own posture relaxed as he watches his boy storm back and forth. Hamilton occasionally mutters to himself, too quietly for Washington to discern the words, but mostly he is silent. Heedless of the comforts provided—improbable for a brig—and equally insensible of his bemused audience.

Washington should announce his presence, but he waits. Enjoying the rare opportunity to observe Alexander without consequence.

He is usually so careful. He _must_ be. The interest he takes in his young, brilliant, distracting communications chief is out of line, no matter how he tries to rationalize it. He can do nothing to banish the feelings, but he's good at keeping secrets. He will be _damned_ before he allows any inkling of impropriety to make a member of his crew uncomfortable. Washington has gone to great lengths making sure no one suspects his preoccupation—least of all Hamilton.

But for once he is alone, and unnoticed, and Washington permits himself this fleeting indulgence.

It lasts several minutes before Hamilton spots him and draws to an abrupt halt, staring from across the cell. "How long have you been standing there?"

Washington allows an amused quirk at one corner of his mouth, the barest fraction of a smile. "Not long. Are you all right?"

He half expects the boy to snap to attention, but Alexander must be in an even more sullen mood than Washington expects—perhaps angry at his general—because he simply resumes his pacing and says, "I'm fantastic. Are you here to get me out of this fucking cage?"

Washington arches one eyebrow. " _Language_ , Colonel."

"Fuck that," Hamilton mutters. "Even if I weren't in a goddamn brig, my duty shift ended two hours ago."

A reasonable point. Washington would still be within his rights to demand a modicum of respect, but the rewards don't seem enough to merit the effort. Worse, if Hamilton digs in instead of coming to heel—if Washington makes this a direct confrontation and his boy continues this ineffectual rebellion—there will be no choice but to discipline him, and that is not a road Washington is willing to go down unneeded.

He lets the attitude slide.

"Is there any way I can convince you to stand still?" Washington asks. If he thought there were any chance of Hamilton _sitting down_ he would push for it. After six hours of pacing the boy must be exhausted. But Washington knows better than to tilt at windmills; better to aim for the battles he has a narrow hope of winning.

It takes almost half a lap, but Hamilton slows. Approaches the open doorframe. And finally stops directly in front of Washington, arms crossed and a scowl affixed to his face.

"So? Are you going to let me out of here?" Hamilton asks the question with a perfect balance of faith and impatience.

Washington hates to let him down. "I'm afraid you're confined until morning."

Hamilton's eyes widen and his jaw drops. " _What_? But— How— Sir, you can't leave me in here all night!"

"It's out of my hands, Alexander. You nearly caused a major diplomatic incident. Insulting the Pr'Uri ambassador in front of the entire assembly… what were you thinking?"

"He was misrepresenting the main conditions of the treaty!" Hamilton's voice is nearly a shout.

"Yes," Washington agrees. "And your rebuke was… evocative. But there are procedures in these situations. You cannot undermine border negotiations without repercussions."

"Undermine— _Sir_ , he was _lying_."

"And you could have called him out more delicately. There was no need to insult his integrity, his intelligence, _and his armada_. We are here to observe and assist, Colonel. The Federation has no seat at these negotiations."

"General, I couldn't simply—"

" _Yes_ ," Washington interrupts sternly, and is relieved when Hamilton falls silent. "You could have. You _should have_. And because you didn't, the Pr'Uri representative refuses to sign the treaty unless you remain in custody until after his departure. I have no authority to override the assembly's ruling." The truth he does not voice is that he isn't supposed to be here at all. There are rules governing contact with diplomatic detainees, and it took a great deal of arguing to wrangle an exception.

But he is here. To see with his own eyes the way Hamilton's shoulders slump at realizing he's truly trapped. Washington feels no satisfaction at the sight. He hopes that, at the very least, Hamilton will consider these consequences in future. Perhaps if he takes them to heart, he won't be quite so quick to shout himself into trouble at the next opportunity.

"I'm sorry," Washington says, more gently than he should. "It's only one night. A temporary inconvenience. By morning you'll be back aboard the Nelson."

"With everyone wondering what happened and assuming it must be my fault."

"The crew have no idea how long the negotiations will last," Washington points out in a lighter tone.

"They'll probably suspect when you _return to the ship without me_ ," Hamilton retorts, gaze turned aside just enough that he is glaring at the wall rather than his general.

"I have no intention of returning to the ship without you."

Alexander's focus darts to Washington's face and his eyes narrow. "Sir?"

Washington waits only a heartbeat before lowering himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged before the shimmering forcefield. A couple seconds later Hamilton mirrors the move on his own side of the door. Settling, still staring at Washington in confusion.

"You mean to stay?" Hamilton asks, incredulous. "Here? All night on the floor of the brig?"

"I mean to keep you company," Washington answers. "I'd encourage you to sleep if I had any delusions you might try. But in any case, yes. I mean to stay."

Alexander is quiet for a very long time, peering through the glint of the forcefield as though trying to rearrange the pieces of a vexing puzzle. Finally that piercing gaze drops to the floor between them.

"Thank you," Hamilton says. There's the faintest glimmer of apology in his voice.

Washington smiles at his boy and does not say a word.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Restless, Evoke, Temporary
> 
> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** if that is a place anyone still goes. In the rare instance I'm inspired to post things that aren't fic--or participate in wider fandom happenings--that's where you'll find me. :D


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